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Don’t pass (expletive deleted) notes

March 16, 2014

I sympathize with the mayor. Wow. I’ve never uttered those words about a politician. But I do sympathize.

This past week, a frustrated Annapolis Mayor Mike P. passed a note to an alderman during a prickly public discussion.

“Thanks for (expletive deleted) me,” the mayor’s note read.

Mike P. apparently then made private amends to offended parties. But the note had already made headlines. It was embarrassing. It was dumb. It was interesting. And it was human.

Still, there’s a lesson here—a lesson I failed to learn.

When I was in the fifth grade I had a girlfriend named Jean M. Our relationship existed primarily—if not exclusively—on paper in the form of passed notes. That I had her house on constant weekend surveillance neither enhanced nor threatened our bond. The point was I had her in my sights.

But the course of true love seldom runs smooth, as they say.

I don’t remember what was so alluring about Diane S. Maybe it was the way she walked to the chalkboard or sipped her chocolate milk. Maybe it was the way she absolutely ignored me—yes, that probably was the way. Whatever the attraction, I felt compelled to start writing her notes. Surely, she could read; hadn’t we all begun working together on reading in kindergarten?

I don’t remember the contents of my first and only note to Diane S. My guilt remains an open case (Jean M. hovers to this day on Facebook) since I’m pretty sure I threw her under the school bus. No doubt, I sloppily professed my affection for Diane S—while not mentioning any home surveillance I might have had in mind. Upon reading my words, her heart would have no choice. Soon, Diane S. would be sharing her chocolate milk with Rob H.

But our love was intercepted.

It wasn’t an alderman, citizen or alert reporter who exposed my note that spring day. It was my elementary school nemesis: Bill M. Foolishly, I had asked him to hand Diane S. my note. She was just two rows over, after all. But that scoundrel, in between stabs of satanic laughter, read my letter out loud. He always did have a good speaking voice, I’ll give him that.

To Jean M’s surprise, to Diane S.’s disinterest and to my horror, my note went viral in a musty classroom of Peters Elementary. Had there been Google, I would have crashed the operation or landed a book deal.

My remaining days of fifth grade were spent largely alone. Writing notes to girls or stalking their homes didn’t feel as rewarding anymore. But because few of us stop while we’re behind, I resumed my note passing in the sixth grade.

Diane M.

Yes, another Diane.

Another bad idea.

Dear mayor, allow my story to be a cautionary tale. Let’s keep our notes to ourselves no matter how honest, stupid, human and regrettable they may be. Because there will always be a Bill H. setting us straight and on other courses in life’s better passing.